


Non-Playable Character

by gwendolyncooper



Category: Torchwood
Genre: An unfortunate amount of retcon, Coffee Shops, Episode: s02e01 Kiss Kiss Bang Bang, Episodic fic because I'm a long winded bitch, Everyone Loves Ianto Jones & They're So Fucking Valid, F/M, Ianto Jones & Suzie Costello mutual suspicion, Janto get your shit together challenge, John Hart is a feral bastard, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Episode: s01e08 They Keep Killing Suzie, Post-Episode: s01e13 End of Days, So fucking much coffee, Unrequited Crush, outsider pov
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:53:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28420461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwendolyncooper/pseuds/gwendolyncooper
Summary: An outsider POV of the local barista who works in a shop on the Plass, watching Torchwood shenanigans, overhearing too much, and crushing unashamedly on one Mr. Ianto Jones.**As of 1/13/2021, Big Finish's audio "Coffee" has been released. I guess I have access to the BF braincell, because a lot of what I had planned for this fic happened in that audio, so this fic is (either temporarily or permanently) not being updated, since at this point it would feel like plagiarism. Thank you for all your love for this fic and for Aamir, and whether or not you want to know how the rest of this fic would have gone, go listen to "Coffee"!
Relationships: Gwen Cooper & Jack Harkness & Owen Harper & Ianto Jones & Toshiko Sato, Jack Harkness/Ianto Jones
Comments: 29
Kudos: 45





	1. They Keep Killing Suzie

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Yavemiel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yavemiel/gifts).



> Meant to be something like a one-off side character in a Ianto BF audio. They're all in love with him, anyway. Gift fic for the Torchwood holiday exchange - many more chapters to come to hit all your prompts, love. Merry Christmas!

They’re tense today.

Aamir has seen them around before. He’s heard things about Torchwood. It’s impossible not to when you live in Cardiff, especially so when you work directly on the Plass. They’re the ones who deal with all the weird shit that goes down around -- but as far as Aamir knows, he’s never directly seen any of it.

He’s one of the few to know their faces and names — most only know of Torchwood by reputation, but he’s had enough time to piece together events and stories with the identities of those who come through his little cafe and coffee bar on the regular.

There’s only two of them in today - not uncommon, it’s rare all five (six?) of them make it in, but there’s an uncertain and dark sort of cloud that hangs over the smaller of the two. Tosh, they call her - small, but sweet and smart as a whip. She’s usually quieter than the rest, glued to her PDA as often as not, but it seems today she’s doing most of the talking. It’s not unusual for the owner of the establishment to overhear snippets of their conversations; their preferred table is the quietest in the seating area, and it just so happens to be the closest to the counter. And he can hardly be blamed for the occasional eavesdrop on their unique repartee.

“I just can’t get her out of my head,” Tosh is saying as Aamir’s capable hands wipe a cleaning rag down the surface of an already sparkling counter. “I couldn’t even  _ look _ at her when we were alone. She’s under my skin, I can’t help but wonder why I never  _ saw _ it...all those awful things she did.” Her hands are wrapped around a mug of coffee, the gentle design in the foam atop it untouched as she clutches it like an anchor rather than sips at the beverage. “I keep thinking...if I’d looked harder, could I have stopped it? Stopped  _ her? _ ”

“No possible way you could ‘ave known.”

The response from her counterpart is steady and simple, and Aamir turns to toss the rag aside, his dark eyes briefly dragging across the young welshman’s face as he looks out across the customers scattered about the area.  _ Ianto Jones.  _ This one, he knows the full name of. He knows his voice and his crystal blue eyes and his razor wit. He knows those pressed suits and the quirk to his lips when he says something sarcastic. And Aamir knows that he is  _ far _ from the only one to turn a head when Ianto walks by. But not everyone gets to see him nearly as often as the barista does, now do they? He sees Ianto Jones more intently. He sees Torchwood beneath that polite smile. And he sees the soft way he speaks to Tosh now.

“Suzie was good. She covered her tracks well, well enough that none of us were expectin’ it.” He pauses to take a sip of his beverage — he’s particular about coffee, but he likes Aamir’s, a point of pride for the man.

“You never saw it?” Tosh inhales deeply, her brown eyes locked on those of bluest hue. “Not at all?”

“Well...I didn’t trust her.” His tone is musing, and Aamir busies himself cleaning the espresso machine, if only to remain near.  _ Suzie. _ She used to come here, too, a long while ago. And then she’d simply stopped. Where had she gone? Hadn’t she been Torchwood, too? “When I started, I was...well, I was hidin’. Hidin’ me, hidin’ Lisa…” His tone quiets for a moment, before he clears his throat to continue on. “Anyway, I was pretendin’ so hard that I could feel it on her, too. But it wasn’t  _ just _ a feeling. I spent all those late nights at the Hub, but I ran into ‘er a lot. Never had an explanation for it. But I didn’t pry, and neither did she. Suppose we just had reason to be suspicious of each other.” A deep breath lifts his chest, and then he lets it fall. “But  _ that? _ I  _ never  _ would have assumed  _ that  _ was what she was keepin’ secret. Don’t think anyone  _ could. _ ” He shakes his head, and Tosh sighs as curiosity sparks along the length of Aamir’s spine. What could they possibly be talking about? What had Suzie been hiding? Where was she—?

The ding of the bell sitting on the front counter drags his attention back to the present, and a waiting customer. Reluctance colors his expression as he leaves his post to greet them, a lovely older lady by the name of Mary who frequented the place.

“Morning, Mary,” he offers cheerfully as he approaches the register, his Moroccan accent somewhat muted from so many years in Cardiff. That accent was what had started his first discussion with Ianto Jones. He’d asked his story. “The usual?”

“Yes, of course,” the white-haired woman replies, her gaze drifting over to the table at which the Torchwood agents sit. “Is that young man the one I saw having a drink with you a while back? Good on you, darling, he’s a looker.”

“Who, Ianto?” He dares a fleeting glance, before laughing and shaking his head. “Not a chance. Wish that were me, but it must’ve been someone else.”

“My eyesight’s not what it used to be,” Mary answers apologetically as he rings her up, and Aamir chuckles. 

“Wouldn’t even consider a no if he asked, though,” he returns, and she gives him a conspiratorial wink.

“He’d be a fool not to,” she teases, and Aamir grins easily as the transaction is made. By the time he’s taken care of her and the next three customers who wander in, Tosh and Ianto have gone, leaving behind to mark their presence only empty mugs, a neat pile of napkins, and more questions than when they’d entered.


	2. End of Days

_ “Are you okay?” _

_ She startles at the question, dark eyes flashing up to meet his own, and in an instant, a spike of dark worry invades his chest. There’s no verbal answer, but it’s enough. Something’s wrong. Something is horribly, horribly wrong. And after the giant monster that rampaged its way through Cardiff only the day before… _

_ “Is everyone all right?” He doesn’t talk about Torchwood, he doesn’t mention that he knows who they are or what they do, but the question breaks free before he can stop it. If there were a reason for this giant thing that killed with its own shadow to have left anyone alive, he can only assume they were at the heart of it. She simply looks at him again -- quiet, yes, as always, but this… _

_ “We’re fine,” is the only thing she manages, and his stomach twists. They both know it’s a lie. She’s come to get enough food for several -- how many? Three? Four? It’s not as much as when they order for the whole team. Who’s is missing? _

_ “Is--?” He cuts himself off. Asking about only one of them is cruel. So he swallows his words around the lump in his throat, and he hands her the bag. “...take care, Tosh.” _

He’s been thinking about it for two days. He hasn’t seen a trace of any of them, not out on the Plass nor in his shop. The strangely consistent odd activity of Cardiff seems quiet. It’s as though Torchwood doesn’t exist. There have been periods of time where he hasn’t heard from them before, but not like this.

The door opens.

“--evening!” There’s a palpable relief in his tone as the team spills through, laughing and chattering with one another, grins on every face.  _ One, two, three, four -- four, who’s missing? _

Jack. Their leader. Jack is missing.

But they’re smiling, aren’t they? So they’re...good. They’re good. He’s all right.

Aamir lifts a hand with a wide grin, and Gwen returns the wave as they approach. “Evenin’, we’re in for coffee.”

“Right, usual?” And there it is again, orders he knows, punching it in before he glances up. “And er-- Jack’s?”

“Yes, please do.”

The final knot unravels in his stomach, and he lets out a breath soundlessly, nodding as he continues to ring them up. It’s only a few moments later, as he’s making the coffees, that he has a chance to speak to Ianto. “How  _ is _ Jack?” It’s an innocent enough question, given that he isn’t there, but Ianto’s never been stupid. He knows that Aamir knows something is off. Let him -- this has clearly been something out of the usual, even for Torchwood.

“Erm -- he’s --” Aamir’s hands stay busy, but his eyes remain on that face, as a smile flickers across his lips and his blue gaze drops to the counter.  _ Oh. _ There was something good there -- something had happened. He’d always known there was  _ something _ between the pair, that much was obvious whenever they were in each other’s vicinity. There has been perhaps a selfish level of frustration with Jack dwelling consistently in Aamir’s thoughts -- their energy changed from day to day. There had always been an underlying uncertainty to Ianto about them, and it had generated an uneasy irritation with the older man. There were, without a doubt,  _ many _ people who would give a lot for a chance with the young Welshman. Aamir is too self-aware to pretend he isn’t among that number. But it played out in front of him, time and again, a subtle shift in the energy between them, never consistent. Perhaps it was easier to see from the outside. Maybe Aamir’s sister has always been right, and he can read people better than most. But the moment Ianto glances back up to him, Aamir  _ knows.  _ “No, yes, good. Really --” He pauses again; a breath is taken in, and that quirk to his lips remains. “--good.”

He can hardly be annoyed with anyone who makes Ianto smile like that, can he?

“Good.” His own smile is warm, despite the fact that it has faded from the bright grin he offered upon their entrance to a softer, more genuine expression. “Where--?”

He’s distracted by a burst of laughter from the other three; his gaze flickers over to them as he smiles on instinct. There is a palpable sense of relief to them all, and while Aamir doesn’t know  _ why, _ he’s glad of it.

A flash of blue catches his gaze; he looks up, over Ianto’s shoulder to the windows that overlook the Plass. A curious sight crosses his view; it’s Jack, running at full speed across the pavement, blue coat flapping in the wind and a rucksack thrown over his shoulder. He seems to be shouting.

Well, he’s seen weirder things with Torchwood. Surely, Jack will fill them in when they get back.

He finishes the last coffee, as Ianto prompts him to finish his abandoned query. “Where…?”

“Oh, just asking where you all had been. Tosh was upset the other day and I was worried...well, anyway. I imagine it’s likely that massive thing stomping through Cardiff, though. Saw it with my own eyes, just...its shadow…” He swallows thickly, shaking his head as he looks away for a moment. It had been terrifying. He’d only  _ just _ escaped it. “...anyway, could’ve sworn I saw some big SUV thing barreling right at it. Imagine you all have been busy?”

There’s a strange look in Ianto’s eyes, and he doesn’t answer as he takes the coffee, simply offers a quirk of his lips and a nod. Aamir should know better, he supposes -- he doesn’t bring up Torchwood to Torchwood. He won’t again, he muses, as he watches them leave.

It’s only a moment later, when he can still see them walking out across the pavement, that his phone dings with an incoming text, and he shuffles it out of his pocket to see a number he doesn’t know, and a text that surprises him.

**[ INCOMING TEXT: UNKNOWN NUMBER ]**

Let’s have a drink sometime soon.  
-Ianto

So it seems, maybe Aamir isn’t that good at reading people after all.


	3. Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang

It’s late.

The cafe is quiet, and Aamir is closing up alone for the night, only the necessary lights on, when the door opens. “Sorry, we’re closed--” he pauses as he stands from behind the counter, wiping his hands on his apron, dark eyes traveling over the intruder.

_ He’s dangerous, _ the first impression filters through his mind, and Aamir finds himself standing up straighter, lifting his chin. He doesn’t  _ look _ local -- piercing blue eyes, dark hair, jeans and boots that don’t match the filthy tee that hangs off his strong body. And that coat -- bright red, inlaid with rows of threading and decoration, enough to make it look as though it wouldn’t be out of place in a circus act. And then there’s the  _ weapons... _ two guns visible, in hip holsters. And a fucking  _ katana.... _

“I’m not here to order food, just asking for directions,” the man says, and Aamir nods, inhaling shallowly. He’s English. Not local.

“Right, of course, where--?”

“I’m actually looking for a man. About yea tall, dark hair, blue eyes, smile that could kill?  _ Great _ ass, too, unfortunate as it is. Probably sounds about American to you. Isn’t very good at blending in, if he’s around, you’d have seen him.”

Aamir blinks slowly, taking the moment to manage another breath. The man he’s describing sounds like  _ Jack Harkness, _ but Jack hasn’t been around in  _ months. _ No, he’s only seen the other members of his team.

Torchwood.

Aamir has seen them around before. He’s heard things about Torchwood. It’s impossible not to when you live in Cardiff, especially so when you work directly on the Plass. They’re the ones who deal with all the weird shit that goes down around -- but as far as Aamir knows, he’s never directly seen any of it.

He’s one of the few to know their faces and names — most only know of Torchwood by reputation, but he’s had enough time to piece together events and stories with the identities of those who come through his little cafe and coffee bar on the regular.

And he’s not about to give them up to this man here.

“Never heard of him, sorry,” he offers with as cheerful a tone as he can manage, shaking his head. “We get a few Americans through here -- tourists, usually. Don’t think I recall a man like that.”

“...pity,” the other muses, his lips pursing as he eyes the shop owner. “Would have made this all quite a bit easier.” For a moment, silence falls between them, and something tells Aamir that his chances of walking out of this are narrowing by the second.

“...is there any other place I can direct you? I know a few good spots that tourists wouldn’t know--”

“Local knowledge,” the man answers, and he breaks into a grin more feral than friendly. “Of course. Why don’t you tell me about a nice pub I can find, huh? Lots of people, popular spot? Pretty faces, yeah?”

“I -- yeah, there’s the um -” He’s scrambling, trying to force his brain to think. “Tiger Tiger. It’s a nightclub over by the Friary. This time of night, it’ll be filled.” Immediately, guilt sinks into his stomach. There were so many people there, and he was sending this man into the midst of them.

“Tiger Tiger, eh? Sounds fun.” He clears his throat, straightening his jacket before pushing one of the sleeves up on his arm. “Right then, have a nice one.” A button is pushed, and he disappears.

For a long moment, silence reigns within the shop, and Aamir stands, slightly slack-jawed, staring at the spot where the strange man  _ had _ been. How long he remains, he’s not certain, before the door again opens, and he startles badly.

“Sorry, you closed yet?” A voice he’s not heard in  _ months _ sounds, and Aamir stammers as his eyes round.

“...Jack? You -- where’ve you--? Never mind, there was a man here, just a second ago, he was  _ looking _ for you--”

“A man?” The American glances at the others, all four as they filter in behind him, before he crosses his arms over his chest. “What kind of man?”

“Erm - English, red coat, he had a sword--”

“Yeah, we know about  _ him. _ ” Gwen’s voice is tired, and she looks a little worse for wear than Aamir is used to as she passes the back of her hand over her forehead. “You all right?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, he just...disappeared. But...you’ve been gone, I--?”

“It’s all right.” Ianto’s voice now, as he steps forward, his tone as calm and even as ever. “Don’t worry, we’ll take care of him.” He’s standing awkwardly, his body half-turned towards Jack, but he’s put distance between them. He’d been closed off at all mention of the man for months. Aamir didn’t even know when exactly Jack had disappeared, or why. But Ianto had seemed...happy about them.

Right, now wasn’t the time to be analyzing this relationship.

“Is he dangerous?”

“He could have been. But we’ve taken care of it.”

“You will, or you  _ have, _ Jack?” His voice is tight, anxious, and Gwen glances around to the others before wearily waving them off.

“I’ve got this.” The others fall back to group into quiet conversation, though Aamir doesn’t miss the glance that is exchanged between the woman and their leader. Former leader? Gwen seems to have been in the lead since he was gone. “Look, sorry about all that, but we’ve set what we need to in motion. He’ll not bother you, yeah? Just...why don’t you get on home, stay inside, watch some telly?”

“Who was he, Gwen?” Aamir asks again, gazing over her with a furrowed brow. She looks  _ awful _ now, up close -- there’s traces of soot, her knuckles are bruised, there’s a purpling mark around her wrist. Owen’s limping, Tosh’s nose was recently bloody, and it’s swollen. The only one who doesn’t look too rumpled is Ianto, but that could simply be his strange ability to remain coiffed under the most dire of circumstance. Whatever happened, concern is evident in every trace of Aamir’s body, and Gwen sighs wearily as her jade eyes meet his.

“An old acquaintance of Jack’s. Don’t worry, I promise. Just get yourself right home, yeah?”

“...let me make you coffee. No offense, Gwen, but you look--”

“Terrible, yeah, I know.” She sighs again, covering her mouth with the back of her hand as it turns into a deep yawn. “That’d be nice. It’s been...the longest night.”

“And it’s still young,” he offers quietly, before she lets out an exhausted chuckle.

“It is, is it? Right, yeah. We’ll take the coffee.”

He doesn’t say another word, simply making up their orders and handing them off, waving off their offers to pay. As they leave, Aamir shuts off the lights and locks the door. Gwen’s advice sounds like the best idea. He’s going straight home, and he’s going to pray he doesn’t run into that man.

God, he hopes nothing bad happens at that pub.


	4. The In-Between

It all starts when the pavement of the Plass begins to bubble and heave, like some twisted parody of a boiling pot. Aamir hears the murmurs of confusion sweep through his customers before he raises his head to look up from an inventory form, his dark gaze locking on the sudden convulsions of what had been solid stone only moments before.

“What…?” He moves as though in a trance, rounding the counter as he steps towards the front of the shop. His splayed palm meets the cold glass of the door.

All hell breaks loose.

The rain-slicked stones liquify, turn to some unknown substance resembling the roiling surface of the bay during a storm, shockwaves rolling outwards, becoming something more like actual waves as they move. Across the Plass, those previously standing on solid ground begin to shout and scream as they find themselves dropping into liquid - brackish, dirty water that drags them deep as a current begins to sweep them along at high speeds, round and round and slowly, towards the center of what, it becomes evident, is a whirlpool.

Screaming breaks out amongst the patrons of the shop as they scramble to their feet and backwards, away from the windows, and Aamir finds himself dragged backwards as well-meaning hands pull him bodily away, his eyes locked on the terrifying scenario outside.

It’s no more than a dozen meters wide, the majority of the Plass still solid, and it doesn’t seem to be moving or expanding. There are people in the water. People drowning, in the water--

He’s moving. It’s stupid, it’s reckless, it’s possibly deadly, but Aamir finds himself ripping out of the grasp of those holding him, and he whirls on them. “Everyone get down behind the counter!” It’s a howl meant to be heard above the commotion, commanding and brooking no refusal as he whips an arm out, a commanding finger pointing behind the only shelter away from the glass-fronted shop. There’s an immediate scramble as the dozen or so people inside vault or desperately sprint to safety, but Aamir has turned, throwing open the door hard enough that it bangs against its hinges.

The whirlpool is farther away from the shop, leaving those behind him safe despite their shouts of concern as he sprints across the still-solid pavement, not knowing if it will dissolve underneath him at any moment. He reaches the edge of the whirlpool -- throws his body down on the ground, throwing a hand out over the water. It’s almost perfectly level with the pavement, as though it were designed to be there, but he’s no time to think on that as he watches the flailing of those caught in the current -- he can count three -- struggling to stay afloat. If he can catch a hand, if he can pull them closer to the edge, if he can--

A desperate, flailing grasp wraps around his arm, and he closes his grip around the woman’s own wrist. The next moment is a rush of pain, of panic and fear and the pull of a force inexorable as her body goes taught against his, and he scrabbles for a grip on the pavement as the current pulls him closer, closer to his death with no resistance--

And then he loses his grasp on her. Her hand slips from his, and there are arms around his body, dragging him back, and above the howl of the water is a voice he knows, loud and commanding despite the wind threatening to snatch it.

“What are you, crazy?! You could have  _ drowned! _ ”

_ Jack. _ Jack Harkness saved his life.

“I--” His shoulder is aching as though it had been ripped from his body, and he cries out at the sensation as he’s dragged upright by strong arms about his torso, hauled back the way he came.

“You can’t  _ save _ her!” He’s forced back across the pavement until they reach the protective hulk of a vehicle -- closer than the shop, he supposes, and Jack drops him there unceremoniously behind it. “Stay  _ here, _ I mean it!”

“ _ Jack-- _ ”

He’s already off at a sprint back towards the vortex, his coat flapping in the wind. Aamir rests heavily against the side of the vehicle, left hand grasping his right arm tightly, teeth gritted against the pain. He can move it, but not without great discomfort; at least it’s not entirely destroyed.

“ _ Gwen! _ ”

It’s Ianto’s voice that takes his attention, and he shifts up far enough to peer through the windows back towards the howling whirlpool, surrounded by spray and wind of its own making. There he is, racing across the Plass to join the fray with Gwen at his side, both holding large, heavy pieces of equipment that come mounted on their shoulders, aimed at the water. Gwen braces herself against the wind, her voice rising only faintly above the noise.

“ _ Here it comes! _ ”

And like lightning, a sudden burst of activity roils the water, and out of it shoots a thick, grotesque tower of flesh, slick and scaly and standing at its top at least six meters above the surface of the water. As it flails about, Aamir can see the flash of a bulbous, fishy eye near the top -- a terrifying mix of fish and eel and something else to create what he can only describe as a  _ sea serpent. _

In the middle of the Roald Dahl Plass.

Welcome to Cardiff.

There’s a flash of motion, and his attention is drawn to Jack and Owen. It seems h was not the only one out in the open, as they usher people to safety before rushing to the black SUV he’s heard associated with Torchwood, parked up on the Plass, and they retrieve machines similar to those the first two hold. They take up their spots, now equally placed around the  _ thing _ rising from the water.

Jack stands on the opposite side of the anomaly, feet planted and coat rippling about him as he paints the perfect picture of a hero. He’s good at that -- looking the part. Owen’s face is hard, his jaw set as he glares up at the thing above him, and Gwen and Ianto remain planted. They’re a unit, an immovable team. This can’t be something they’ve seen before, but they know their places in a well-oiled machine.

The creature flails and lets out a sounds he can only describe as a  _ roar, _ before it brings its thick body down in a  _ rush _ towards the pavement -- Aamir yells -- Owen and Jack scatter out of the way just in time to avoid it as it recoils into the water, before they retake their positions. But whatever those machines are, they’re simply held at the ready, unused.

_ What are they doing? _

“Tosh, we could  _ really  _ use those specs right about now!”

Jack’s voice again rises above the noise, and this time, Aamir is startled by a voice closer by, behind him, and he whips around to find Tosh standing behind him, tapping frantically on a screen in her hands and staring up at the serpent in turn.

“I’m trying! There’s a lot of interference--!”

The serpent dove again, and this time it’s Ianto and Owen who dive out of the way, rolling across the pavement before struggling to their feet and leaping out of harm’s reach.

“ _ Tosh! _ ” Owen shouts, “Come on, gal!”

“It’s getting impatient!” Gwen’s voice.

“Turn them on, it’ll do for now!”

As one, the four agents standing about the base of the serpent turn on the machines, and a beam of bright, purplish light extends from each up at the serpent, hazing the air around it into wavy unclarity, and the serpent lets out another ear-splitting roar. Aamir claps his hands over his ears with a pained cry, and while he can see there are verbal reactions from the rest, none of them move, as Tosh continues to work on her screen.

The serpent begins to thrash with renewed vigor now, screeching and slamming its bulbous body this way and that, forcing Torchwood to keep light on their feet as they struggle to keep their machines aimed.

“Ten seconds!” Tosh shouts, though he’s not certain how they’ll be able to hear her. “...eight...six...four…!”

“Owen, get out the way!” Gwen’s frenzied shout drags his attention, and his heart seizes in his throat as he watches the serpent come down towards him -- he can’t get out of the way -- a flash of movement, and Owen is thrown out of the way, bodily shoved and replaced by--

“ _ JACK! _ ”

The desperate shout is ripped from his own lungs as the serpent slams into the pavement, throwing Jack backwards into the SUV. The  _ crack _ of impact is audible even above the din as he drops to the pavement like a rag doll -- the light from the others changes from purple to blue to white -- Gwen and Ianto flank the creature as it sinks, thrashing and screaming, back into the whirlpool --

The pavement returns to solid. The din begins to die. Brackish water washes over the stone, soon to be wiped away by the rain pouring down.

Aamir slumps down against the SUV. Torchwood saved the day.

Jack Harkness is dead.

•·················•·················•

“Dislocated,” Owen pronounces calmly as he secures the sling around Aamir’s neck, keeping his right arm tucked in close to his chest. “But seems it popped right back in. It’ll hurt for a bit -- take these every six hours if you need them. It’ll be fine in a couple weeks. Here, take these for now.”

Aamir nods, wordless, as Owen presses a couple of pills and a bottle of water into his hands. He seems so...calm, for what just happened. Not just the whirlpool, or the serpent, but the loss of their leader. There’s no reaction at all. Maybe he simply hasn’t processed it yet.

Everyone else in the place has been seen to and told to go free, given pills to remedy the splitting headaches the noise had created and told there would be no adverse side effects. Aamir remains where he is as they filter out, still trying to process, when the door opens, and Ianto enters.

“Hey--” Aamir stands, dark eyes drifting over the other’s face in worry.

“Heard you tried to drag someone out of the water,” Ianto starts, raising an eyebrow.

“Didn’t work. Jack…” A shaky breath is taken into his lungs, and he shakes his head. “He saved my life. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” Ianto returns, and Aamir finds himself near in disbelief. Doesn’t he know? Didn’t he see it? It’d been the better part of an hour since, hasn’t his team told him?

“About Jack.” Is he in denial? Worry floods Aamir; he’d seen that impact. Jack was  _ dead, _ he knew it. But rather than return his worry, Ianto simply turned to glance out the window, prompting Aamir to follow his gaze...to where Jack stood out by the SUV, speaking to Tosh. As he watches, a grin breaks over both their faces at something he can’t hear, and Tosh hands him the screen she was reading off of earlier.

“He seems all right to me,” Ianto comments, the hint of a smile quirking his lips, and he nods to Aamir’s shoulder. “That looks painful.”

“It...yeah. Owen gave me pills…” He looks down to the packet still clutched in his hand, and Ianto nods.

“Right, those’ll help with the pain. Here, let me help--” The water bottle is scooped up, the cap twisted off as Ianto holds it out to him.

“No, I’ll...I’m fine, think I’ll be fine.”

“Well, if you’re not goin’ to take the pills, at least stay hydrated.” The bottle is still held out to him, and Aamir relents finally, setting the painkillers aside and taking the bottle in his good hand, draining half of it in one go. “Good. Go home, Aamir, we’ll take care of the rest.”

“What about the people who fell in?” He asks abruptly, unable to keep the question in though he knows the answer. Ianto’s expression doesn’t change, but the repetition of his words is all the confirmation Aamir needs.

“Go home, Aamir. Take care of that shoulder. Looks like a nasty fall.”

“It wasn’t…?” But Ianto’s already gone, off across the Plass to Jack. Aamir watches as his hand brushes the back of that signature coat for a moment before it drops back to Ianto’s side, a touch most would have missed if they weren’t looking for it. It was both terrifying and incredible to finally see Torchwood in action, rather than only hearing the rumors, he thinks as a wave of weariness sweeps over him. He finishes the bottle and tosses the plastic in the bin before he exits the shop and locks the door. Right. Sleep sounds good, after all that excitement. He’ll try and figure out what happened with that whole thing after a good nap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that, hopefully, hits the team-in-action prompt! Also, this is the first time I've ever killed Jack in any fic outside of that one where I murdered the whole team.


End file.
